


Take on Me

by PrincessMarth



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: M/M, Narrator is Jack, POV Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMarth/pseuds/PrincessMarth
Summary: WORK IN PROGRESS: Do you know the 1985 song "Take on Me" by Aha? It's basically that but more gay.





	1. Chapter 1

I’ve moved into Tyler’s house, and it’s a hovel compared to a normal place; barely above a garbage dump compared to the minimalist serenity of my condo. Even so, I find the days blending together until I’ve been here for at least a couple of weeks. Not that I’ve been great keeping track of the days lately anyways. One thing I have been great at lately is accidentally catching Tyler masturbating. He goes at it like a fiend, and the man refuses to lock his door. A residual of living alone, I guess. You’d think he’d care more, me walking in to find him spanking the plank, choking the chicken, whatever you want to call it. Usually, he just raises an eyebrow at me, and I attempt to look non-chalant as I can when presented with another guy’s dick while backing out of the room. Sometimes, I wonder if he wants me to catch him. If it’s supposed to be a lesson on the freedom of sexuality, getting out from under the thumb of our mother’s influence. Sex happens but we don’t talk about it, dear. It’s not polite conversation. It’s not really the masturbating that I’m stuck on. It’s the dick. Tyler’s dick, specifically. I‘ve got no problems with my own, unless you count lack of interest. I’m so tired that it’s like a morgue slab between my legs. Tyler, however, is waking me up a little. I’m not sure if it’s attraction, or just curiosity. I do wonder what he thinks about. It can’t possibly be Marla, maybe the women from the porn he watches?

“We’re going out.” says Tyler, shaking me from my reverie. I look at him over my half-finished beer.

“Where?”

“The dump. I’m not in the mood to run into Marla tonight, and she’s still pissed about the soap thing.” Tyler’s looking relaxed for once, as relaxed as a man whose muscles could cut glass can look. I’d guess that he was drinking protein powder if his muscles weren’t so lean. Shit, now he’s staring at me.

“Okay, let’s go.” I grab my jacket and follow him out the door. We stop by the Chinese takeout place on the way, and I find that Tyler’s slipped money into the front of my shirt. I don’t question where he gets it from anymore, not after seeing the amount of orders for soap on the dresser in his room. I order for the two of us and carry the boxes out after a few minutes. He’s quiet on the way there, uncharacteristically so, since usually he’d take this alone time to talk politics, pornography, really anything that crosses his mind. We end up at the same car we usually end up in, the Chevrolet with the enormous bench seat. To my surprise, Tyler pulls a candle and matches from somewhere on his person, and plunks it on the dashboard.

“It’s dark and this place usually smells like sewer runoff.” he says in explanation, and I can almost hear a hint of defensiveness in his tone; that is, if Tyler was ever defensive about anything.

“So we’re staying overnight then?” I ask, catching the faint scent of pine and the stronger scent of burnt on the breeze. I wonder where Tyler got the scent from, there aren’t any trees near us and I cannot imagine him shopping for scented oils.

“Looks like it.” he says, digging into his orange chicken. For someone who hates consumer culture, the man really likes his takeout. We sit quietly for a little while, since I’m hungrier than I thought. The air is warm and far less fetid than usual, Tyler was definitely right about bringing the candle.

“Jack, I gotta ask you something.” he says, after spearing the last of his chicken.

“Yeah? What is it?” This could literally be anything, so I’m both interested and nervous.

“What do I look like?”

“What?” Now this is really unexpected.

“To you. What do you see when you look at me?” he asks, chucking his takeout box through the window.

“You’re about my height; you’ve got spiky hair, kind of a brown blonde color, muscular, blue eyes, tan…I don’t know what else you want me to say.” I finish, catching him looking at me.

“No, that’s good. So you’d say we look pretty different then?”

“Yes, we look pretty different.” Where is this going?

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Sometimes, I can’t recognize myself in the mirror, you know? Like, I’ll look at my face, and it’s not me.”

“Really? Do you have that problem with other people too?”

“Yeah, but usually when they open their mouth, I figure it out.”

“Do you have that problem with me?” he laughs.

“No Jack, I always recognize you right away.” This comment leaves unexpected warmth in my chest.

“What if I took a picture of you? Then you’d have a point of reference.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I hardly ever use a mirror anyways, when you look this good, there’s no need.” God, now I’m blushing? This is getting fucking weird.

“Why Marla then? She’s a bit…out of your league, so to speak.” He laughs.

“Marla’s exciting, man! Never met anyone trying to hit rock bottom harder. Also, she fucks like a machine; girl has the libido of a fifteen year old boy.” Gross, now all I can imagine is Marla fucking Tyler. It’s bizarre how quickly my mind conjures up a naked image of Marla, it’s as if I’ve seen it before. I switch to a naked Tyler, but quickly realize that’s not a great idea considering he’s sitting two feet away from me.

“She’s interesting, I’ll give you that. Annoying, but interesting.”

“You might like her if you got to know her.” he points out, digging under the seat and pulling out two bottles of that cheap beer he likes.

“I’ll pass.”

“It’s okay, champ. I’m not gonna force you two together. It’ll probably happen naturally.”

“I doubt it.” He passes me a beer after prying the top off with his bottle opener. We drink until the world gets that soft drunken haze that makes alcohol so appealing. Tyler regales me of stories from his various jobs, and I steadily start to drift off. Not enough food to balance out the booze, I’ve always been a bit of a lightweight, especially compared to Tyler.

“So I guess we’re sleeping here then.” says Tyler, passing me a blanket.

“If you want to go back to the house, be my guest. I’m too drunk to walk.” I watch him blow out the candle, which has burned almost all the way down. The night stretches quiet before us, the ambient sounds of the city muffled by piles of rusted steel. I fall asleep in a cloud of boreal forest and Tyler scent, while he stares out the window and lights up a cigarette.

I dream that I’m falling through a black void, the usual images of Tyler and Marla storming the beaches of my consciousness. Oddly enough, I’m rescued by Tyler himself, who floats out of the images and does a graceful breaststroke towards me. He pulls me towards him and cups my face in both hands, almost gentle for a second, before sticking his tongue in the open wound of my cheek. I wake up with a gasp of pain, real or imagined my cheek still hurts like a motherfucker. I’ve got half an erection, which is the most I’ve managed in months, and I jerk it to completion to take my mind off the pain in my cheek. This is the most rested I’ve felt in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brad Pitt has said himself that he suffers from prosopagnosia (face blindness)


	2. Chapter 2

“You worry too much about what other people think, Jackie.” says Tyler. I’m having a hard time focusing on his words because he’s thrown off the blanket, naked body exposed to the night air.

“If I cared about what other people think, Tyler, I never would have quit my job. I never would have moved into this house, hell, I’d never have joined Fight Club!”

“Yeah, but you did all those things because of me. Now you’re going to go off and have a gay crisis on top of everything, and I can’t have that. It’s gonna take too much time away from the plan, and god knows I of all people know that you get a bit…into your own head, so to speak.” He flops back down onto the pillows, and I take the opportunity to throw part of the blanket over him.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” He slithers under the blanket and ends up on top of me. I’ve come only a few minutes earlier, and my dick is having some kind of soggy spasm in an attempt to get erect. It’s kind of painful actually, except I am definitely not strong enough to push off the solid mass of muscle that is Tyler.

“Do you need me to blow you? Would that help?” I honestly can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. With the blanket framing his head like that, he looks like the Porn version of Jesus, as if he’s going to spout off something from the Bible and then stick his fist up my ass.

“I’m less concerned with the gay thing then with the fact that we were able to have sex at all. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or not anymore. From what you’ve told me, when I see you, I’m asleep.”

“Hard to say, bud. Maybe it’s all in your head, who knows? Why not enjoy the moment?”

“Tyler, you’ve organized a terrorist organization using my body…”

“Our body.”

“Okay, our body, a terrorist organization using our body, how am I supposed to relax? Also, you’ve been fucking Marla!”

“Yeah, we’ve been fucking Marla, so what? You weren’t using this for anything anyways.” One of his hands slides along my dick, and I feel myself sinking further into his miasma.

“Why do you keep me around anyways? I’m sure you could probably overpower my part of the body.” I shut my eyes, suddenly weary. Tyler’s quiet for a moment, kind of unusual for him, as if he’s actually considering this.

“Truthfully, I probably could have taken full control of this body earlier. You’re right; you do slow me down, not much but definitely enough to be annoying. Maybe I’m just sentimental. Maybe I use the time that you control our body as a break. Who knows?”

“Great explanation.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey Tyler, who the fuck is in your bathroom?” calls Marla while walking down the stairs. I’m getting used to being called Tyler; even if I’ve started a doomed crusade to get people to call me Jack again. Most of Project Mayhem goes with Mr. Durden or “Sir”, and that’s marginally better.

“I have no idea.” Project Mayhem members use the one in the basement, the upper floor is for me and Tyler and occasionally Marla.

“Jack?” calls Tyler, and I immediately break into a dead sprint up the staircase. Other than my cheek, I’m in the prime of physical fitness from Fight Club, so I make the climb with ease. My heart feels like I drank ten cups of coffee, like its one loud noise away from bursting out of my chest. I skid to a stop about halfway down the hall, where Marla, resplendent in her thrift store pajamas that have made their way into my drawers, has one arm on Tyler’s rock hard bicep. The last thing I see before passing out is Tyler breaking free of her grip and starting an anticipatory dive towards me. Time passes, I have no idea how long I was actually out, but I wake up on my bed with my head in Tyler’s lap. Marla is pacing the room and alternating between muttered commentaries to herself and screeching at Tyler.

“I can’t believe that he hid his fucking BOY TOY from me…how long have you been here anyways? Wait, don’t answer, I’ll wait until he’s awake so I can get angry at him in person. If the fucking wasn’t so good, I would have ditched his crazy ass so long ago…” Oh good, exactly what I need. Marla mad at me again, must be a Tuesday.

“Tyler?” I croak out, and he smooths a hand across my forehead.

“Jack. I don’t know what’s happening.” Tyler has an uncharacteristically scared look in his eyes, which actually makes me feel a little better. At least I’m not the only one who’s fucked up about this.

“What’s happening is that Jack’s gay, apparently.”

“There is such a thing as bisexual, Marla. That’s also probably the least important thing happening right now, but thanks for pointing that out.”

“God, you even talk like him. This is bizarre.”

“Sit the fuck down, you’re stressing me out.” snaps Tyler, and she obediently plops down on the edge of the bed.

“Can we share, Jack? I’d be okay with that.” She says in a softer tone. I pull myself into a sitting position against the wall and look at the two of them.

“Marla, touch Tyler’s face.” She obliges.

“I didn’t mean right now, but if that`s what you want…” I swear I’m going to buy Marla one of those medieval chastity belts.

“No, that’s not what I…just touch my face.” She puts her other hand on my face, and the two of them wait to see what I’ll ask of them next.

“Marla, tell me; are you touching two different people right now?”

“Yes.” Finally, she can tell I’m not fucking around.

“And you’ve never seen Tyler before, right?”

“Nope, I’d remember if I saw this hunk before.” I take her hand off my face and rest my head on my knees. The room is spinning violently, and I feel like a fly about to be swatted by the hand of God.

“Just take a deep breath Jackie…” says Tyler. I try, but it’s impossible right now.

“Tyler, you aren’t real...”

“I thought we determined I was real.” he says with a grin evident in his tone.

“You aren’t supposed to be separate from me!” Shit, now I’m hyperventilating.

“Jack, do you want some Vicodin?” asks Marla, rattling a tube at me that she’s swiped from the bedside table. I take the bottle and gulp down two, the acrid taste bringing me back to the present; at least, for a little while.

“Can you explain what’s going on? Because he’s gonna be really out of it in the next few minutes.” asks Marla, gently pushing me down onto Tyler’s pillow.

“It’s not going to make a lot of sense, Marla.”

“I’ve been getting dick from this guy for months; sense has kind of gone out the window.”  


**Author's Note:**

> This is various scenes from a story I've been working on, sorry if it's a bit confusing.


End file.
